WHERE BIRDS ROOST. 121 



dismay as I approach, until I start back, lest they 

 should impale themselves on the sharp thorns. 

 Sometimes the thrasher ensconces himself for the 

 night in the brush-heaps which the wood-choppers 

 have made on the slopes, making his presence 

 known by his peculiar way of scolding at my offi- 

 cious intrusion. 



One cannot help admiring the wise forethought 

 displayed by many birds in creeping into the thick 

 thorn-bushes at night, where they may sleep without 

 fear of attack from their nocturnal foe, the owl. 

 Full well they seem to know he cannot force his 

 bulky form through the thick network of branch 

 and thorn. How he must gnash his teeth with 

 rage — if owls ever do that — when he espies his 

 coveted prey sleeping peacefully just beyond the 

 reach of his talons ! Still, it sometimes happens 

 that even a small bird ventures into too close 

 quarters in these terrible prickly bushes ; for I once 

 found a dead sparrow completely wedged in among 

 the fierce thorns, where it had evidently been 

 caught in such a way as to prevent its escape. 



Something over a year after the preceding facts 

 were published, I was seized with a whim to re- 

 sume my investigations on bird roosts. One of my 

 nocturnal rambles seems to be deserving of some- 

 what minute description. It was a delightful 

 evening of early spring, with a warm westerly 

 breeze stirring the bursting leaves. The sun had 

 set, and the dusk was falling over fields and woods. 

 The bright moon, a little more than half full. 



